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writing poetry

meu filho está inoperante e eu sou cortina indo
não permaneça não mais
eu arremessei minha alma ao ar como um vôo do falcão
eu sou cansado de ser amargo e cansado de ser sábio
rosas e ouro
quando as horas do dia forem numeradas
como águias na elevação ascendente
eu encho este copo
há qualquer um lá
quem estará nomeando o vento
quando liberdade de sua altura da montanha
sobre os rooftops compita as sombras das nuvens
meu sorrow, quando for aqui com mim

 



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